


Hail The New King, But Don't Forget The Old

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dáin Helping, Gen, Grieving, King Dáin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dáin knew being a king would come with its own hardships. But when you are trying to fill Thorin Oakenshield's boots, there are some things that you need to ensure take priority. Helping his remaining warriors, sister and burglar through their grief is one of them. And he is determined to do this properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Balin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mira_Meliandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Meliandra/gifts), [AI07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/gifts), [Rosa_Cotton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/gifts), [Bofur1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/gifts).



He had known Balin before Erebor fell. Thorin and Frerin had taken him to meet their new cousin and he'd seen a young lad with a shock of brown hair and bright blue eyes. Now Balin was older, white-haired, bearing new scars from the battle. His eyes, once bright, were now dimmed with grief at the terrible losses of the king and princes he'd once known.

"What can I help you with? My king."

 _'My king'_. The words were hasty, added as an afterthought, and Dáin couldn't blame him. Even _he_ was not used to his new status. "I was wonderin' how ye were."

"Oh, everything's..fine."

Blatant lies. Dáin shook his head. "No, It's not. Sit, cousin."

Balin did so. He was looking at him with those sad, dull eyes and waited for him to speak.

"Tell me," Dáin said. "Tell me what ye're feelin'."

Balin looked astonished. The redheaded Dwarrow was not known for speaking about feelings, of all things. But Dáin knew this would help. "Well," he said. "I...I.."

Dáin picked up the silver jug of wine. Pouring it into a golden goblet set with rubies, he passed it to his cousin. "Drink. Wine loosens the tongue."

"I'm not sure it would be wise." Balin said.

"You're a lord. You might as well drink like one."

With an air of reluctance, Balin took a sip. And another and another until the goblet was empty. He put the vessel on the table. 

"Tell us your thoughts, cousin."

"I think sometimes that we should've stayed in Ered Luin. Just stayed there to keep the three of them safe. You know, he didn't care for the gold, not really. He always wanted to bring them _home_."

"You mean Fíli and Kíli?"

Balin closed those dim eyes and shook his head. "Not just them. _All_ of us. He wanted to take his sister through the palace, watch her face light up as she recognised various places. He wanted to show those who had been born here what it was like. _That_ was what he wanted. And he wanted to see Fíli become king and Kíli grow a beard. And what did he get?"

"None of this was his fault. You know-"

"Of course I know! I know what happened to him, I know what happened to those poor boys. I know that _they_ deserved the throne-" Balin cut himself off, but Dáin knew then what he was about to say.

"They deserved the throne more than I ever could." Dáin finished gently. "Of course they did. They were the ones who did so much.."

"No, no. Forgive me, I-"

"There's nowt to forgive. Ah, if I could have taken their places, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"You came for us."

"In the end, aye. And I'm glad I saw him before. He fought bravely and nobly. _They_ fought bravely and nobly." Dáin paused. "They are together now. Thorin will look after them. Fíli will meet his grandfather and great-grandfather and learn from them. Kíli could very well grow a beard at will."

Balin made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Aye. He'd grow himself a ridiculously long one and try to make Fíli jealous."

Dáin smiled. The darkness was leaving his cousin's eyes. He'd done well.

 


	2. Dwalin

It was when they were walking around the settlements that Dáin brought up Thorin to Dwalin.

"Look at the rain! I s'pect Thorin'd be usin' ye're hand as an umbrella if he was here now."

The look he was given in return was terrifying. "Thorin was not afraid of _rain_."

"T'wasn't I who lifted his brother over his head to protect himself from the rain on this very battlement, nigh on two centuries ago."

He could remember that. Frerin's squeaks and squeals had been enough to wake the dead and the pummeling he'd given his brother had been hilarious at the time.

Dwalin looked even less pleased. "What're you tryin' to say?"

"I'm tryin' to say he had happy times here."

"Happy times? Like when Smaug descended upon Erebor? Like when his sister-son was _slain_ before him?"

"Ye know I didn't mean terrible feckin' times, Dwalin."

"Forgive me, but I cannot recall the 'happy' times he had here."

"Ye weren't born here."

"Nor were _you_."

"Aye, I wasn't. But I knew Thorin before Smaug came. I remember he and Frerin running between pillars and giggling about some mischief. I remember him holding his baby brother and, later, sister, wide-eyed. I, too, remember him."

" _You_ knew him as a prince. _I_ knew him as a king."

"I knew him as my cousin, as did ye."

Dwalin stopped in his tracks and stared down at him. "Your _cousin?_ You only came when the dragon was dead!"

"I did not want to see _my_ warriors _roasted alive_ in their armour!"

"You were a coward."

Dáin exhaled sharply. "Dwalin. I wanted to keep my men safe. I wanted to keep _him_ safe, too. I _asked_ him not to go here. _'It's dangerous'_ , I said. _'You can't be serious.'_ But he was and he went."

Dwalin folded his arms and glared down at him. "And _why_ do _you_ think he came?"

"Because he wanted to go home. I am not the Elf or Man, who believe he loved gold and gems more'n his kin. I know he loved all of you more'n his gold and jewels.

Dwalin's arms relaxed and fell. His hung his head. "He did. He didn't care for the riches in the end. He just wanted to kill the Orc."

"And he did. He outlived him as well."

"I should have saved him."

"You were trying to protect him. If you weren't there, he would've been torn apart by the goblins and never would have defeated Azog. He never would have avenged his heir and grandfather if it had not been for you."

"I wish it had been me."

"And I wish it had been me. But we survive and we _must_ make his kingdom a place to be proud of once more, so he can be happy in Mahal's Halls as he was here."

Dwalin was staring at him and Dáin almost worried until Dwalin nodded and bowed to him.  When the warrior stood, a weight seemed gone from his muscled shoulders and he nearly smiled, albeit sadly,  as he spoke;

"That sounds like a good idea, King Dáin."

 

 

 

 


	3. Dori

Dáin found the eldest Ri brother making tea in his chambers. He really should have knocked before entering, if the disapproving look sent his way was anything to go by, but it was too late to fix it now.

"Sorry," he said, trying his best to look apologetic. "Just wanted t'see how ye were doin',"

"No matter," the silver-haired Dwarrow replied. "Would you care for a cup?"

Dáin had never much cared for tea, but he nodded. "That'd be grand, thank ye."

"I have jasmine, rosehip, chamomile and peppermint. Which do you prefer?"

Oh, gods. Did Thorin have to suffer through this too? Dáin forced a smile. "Which do ye recommend?" 

"Jasmine. It reduces stress and helps relaxation, you know."

Presumably it was all Nori's fault that Dori knew this, but Dáin kept this thought to himself.

The delicate fragrance of the jasmine grew in the air. When steam began rising heavily from the little black pot, Dori ladled some out, pouring it into two cups, passing him one. The liquid inside was pale yellow and clear as the purest citrine, and smelt pleasant and exotic.

"How've ye been?"

"Well, thank you."

"Come on, Dori. Don't try'n lie to me. You look like you haven't slept since Thorin."

"Ori has been having difficulty sleeping."

Ah. He'd asked his Thorin to watch over the youngest Ri and he had done, returning with reports that the lad had been quiet and withdrawn. "Was this his first battle?"

"Yes. And it shall be his last, I tell you."

"What about ye?"

Dori shook his head. "I've been in scraps before, but not a true battle. My nadadith, he..he's really quite fierce. Both of them are. But fierceness won't protect them from nightmares."

"What of ye? Have ye had nightmares?"

"No. I seem to have forgotten how to close my eyes and sleep."

"It isn't healthy," Dáin said, glimpsing into silver eyes. "Ah, I know it's hard to sleep after a war, but ye cannae keep doin' this to yerself. Take a sleeping draught."

"What about my brothers?"

"Sleep during the day."

_"The day?!"_

 He looked so scandalized by this that Dáin had to hide a grin by placing his teacup to his lips. "Aye, the day. I don't want ye exhaustin' yerself, Dori. Thorin wouldn't have it and neither will I. Just sleep fer a few hours a day." he sipped the warm tea. It had a strange, but not unpleasant flavour and he drank some more. "Tell ye what, Dori, this is feckin' brilliant."

The silver-haired Dwarf winced at that one curse word, but he looked pleased by the compliment all the same. "Thank you."

"Did you make Thorin and his lads tea?"

Dori smiled a little. "Thorin liked peppermint tea best because it tasted fresh.  Fíli and Kíli weren't very big fans of tea, unless it was 'normal' tea. Though occasionally, he'd give them a sip from his cup when they asked."

Dáin chuckled, the sound coaxing a soft laugh from Dori, too. "I vow all lads ask fer a sip of whatever their elders are drinkin'!"

Dori smiled, a true, warm smile. "That's true," he said. "I remember when-"

As Dori regaled him with tales of the seemingly many times  Fíli and Kíli had gotten Thorin into trouble with Dís by getting him to give them things she wouldn't have approved of, Dáin swore he could see a spark of joy shining in silver eyes. 

 


	4. Nori

"I don't _feckin'_ believe this!" the new king declared. "I hope ye're feckin' proud of yerself, Nori!"

The Spymaster of Erebor, who was wearing a _very_ familiar golden crown perched on the top of his somewhat interesting hair, shrugged.

Dáin tried not to frown any heavier and extended a hand. "Give." Once the crown was in his hands, he tucked it under an arm. "Fer Mahal's sakes, we've been looking fer the blasted thing high'n low, and it turned out that _ye_ had it! What on earth possessed you t'do such a thing?"

It wasn't _his_ crown. In order to keep a sort of peace, Dáin had offered to have a crown made for the King of Dale which had been eventually accepted. It was the day to give the thing to Bard, but it had been discovered missing, so the King Under the Mountain had hurried his way to his Spymaster's chambers, only to find him casually sitting, as though waiting for him, the golden object sitting precariously on the top of his head.

"Wanted to see if I was still a good thief."

_"And?"_

"That's about it. And, to answer your question, I am quite proud of myself."

"This isn't funny, ye daft sod! I've never known a Dwarf to be such a troublemaker!"

"You 'ave." Nori muttered.

Dáin sighed softly and placed the crown on the table. "Aye, I have. And he was nearly as bad as ye are fer takin' things that he shouldn't."

Nori looked inquisitive. "I was talkin' about Fíli and Kíli," he said. "What are you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about Thorin," Dáin said, trying not to grin as Nori's eyes widened. "Oh, aye, he used to take everything! He stole his grandfather's rings right off his fingers more times'n anyone could count."

"You're 'avin' me on! 'e never stole nothin'!"

"He did,"  Dáin promised. "Come, we'll take the ruddy thing to where it was s'posed to go this morning-" he gave Nori a meaningful look. "-and I'll tell ye the tales."

"Maybe e'll be so angry that e'll raise from 'is grave."

"And beat me to death fer all the world to see! I expect ye'd like _that_ , Nori."

Nori simply grinned in response.


	5. Ori

Good. Excellent. Four down, eight to go. Dáin went to take a shortcut through the library, wondering who there was he would speak to next. A flash of soft purple and grey caught his eye and he turned, knowing then, exactly who, would be the next to receive his attention.

He had met the lads' mother, a noblewoman dwarrowdam by the name of Idùzhib, but once. She had been a young woman with soft ginger hair and bright silver eyes. Ori took after her, with his mop of auburn. His face took after hers, and he, too, had the freckles that his mother had worn. Dáin stepped over to him, noting that his head was bowed over a deep blue book, lettering picked out in faded gold.

_The Seven Families._

Ah. Dáin  remembered that book. In it was inked the names of the sons of the Seven Fathers. He walked closer and was near startled out of his skin when Ori spoke.

"They're not in it."

"Who, lad?"

"Fíli and Kíli. Their names are missing."

Dáin  sighed a little. "No, laddie. The book was left here when Smaug came. Nobody thought to come back for it. If they had, Fíli and Kíli's names would be directly underneath that o' Lady Dís."

There was a blip of silence and then Ori's quiet voice piped up again. "For a moment I thought Fíli was awake. But then I knelt beside him and he was cold, so _cold_ \- and then I saw the blood..." the scribe took a shaky breath and then continued. "Mister Dwalin came and pulled me away and I could hear shouts from above and I knew then what had happened to Kíli, that he was dead, too..."

Dáin  lay a leather-clad hand on Ori's shoulder. What Ori was now telling him clearly took a lot of strength to do so. He, himself, didn't speak. What could he say?

"We knew what happened to Thorin. We stayed with him for...hours, it seemed, but we knew we had to find the princes, make sure they were alright. But they weren't." Ori paused, deep-blue eyes brimming. "I see them in my dreams, sometimes. I never saw Kíli, my brothers wouldn't let me see him and I couldn't bring myself to look at him when he was in his c-casket, but I can _imagine_.."

The boy seemed out of energy to speak anymore of it. Dáin moved his arm over his quaking shoulder and squeezed him tight. "The mind is a dangerous thing," he said, half to himself, half to Ori. "Do ye know what happens when we move on, Ori?"

"We go to Mahal's Halls until he reforges us."

"Aye, we do. And do ye know what happens in those halls of His?"

Ori was looking at him curiously, like Dáin's own Thorin used to whenever his father told him a bedtime story. "I never gave much thought to it," he admitted. "What happens?"

"We meet our kin who have passed on before us. Our amads, our adads, grandparents, uncles, cousins, aunties, even brothers and sisters or, if we were terribly unfortunate, our own bairns." 

Ori's eyes were wide. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. They'll have met their own grandfather by now and their great-grandfather, too. Thorin will be catching up with Frerin, his nadadith."

 The tense sorrow that had dominated the younger dwarf's face was gone, replaced by something lighter. "That doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Not bad at all," Dáin  replied. He took his arm from around Ori's shoulders and gently took the book from his hands, flipping through the pages until he found the right one. "Here," he said, tapping a calloused finger beneath Dís' name. "Write down their names, their year of birth, even the exact date if ye wish. I'll write in the date they ceased to be, if ye'd like."

"Can I really?"

"I insist ye do," Dáin  answered, gently ruffling his hair. When ye're done, bring it to me and I'll finish it off."

 He didn't _know_ , per say, but he guessed that writing in the dates of death would hurt him terribly. Either way, he was quite surprised when he opened up the book, some hours later, to find, in perfectly neat runes, the date and year of their passing.

"They were my friends," Ori said softly. "Not accepting that they're gone will not bring them back."

"No," Dáin  agreed, noting that Thorin's date of passing was completely non-existent. For him? "That's true." Dipping a quill in midnight-black ink, he wrote down Thorin's year and date. "There it is, then." He placed it, still open, on his desk to let it dry. "I remember both times  Dís was pregnant. I went over to see how she was early on the first time. Stayed fer three or four weeks and went back. When I got back, there was a raven to say that a boy had been born."

"Fíli."

"That's right. When she was pregnant with Kíli, I went over later on to see if I could be there for the birth. I think he was too ruddy comfy, and I had to get back home. By the time I got back to the Iron Hills, there was a message to say that the exact _day_ I left, he'd arrived!"

Ori smiled. "He was waiting for you to go."

"I think he was! You could feel his pride radiating off the pages he sent me. You know, he wrote monthly about them. Their first words, their first steps, he'd even write to tell me what mischief they'd been up to...you'd swear he was their da and not their uncle! He'd tell me about how he adored them and how he could never stop if he tried." Dáin stopped, suddenly overcome with a thought of how Thorin might be feeling now. 

"They're together." Ori said, his trademark gentleness shining through. "He's looking after them."

Dáin nodded, smiling at the scribe, who smiled back. "That he is, lad. That he is."

 

 


	6. Bifur

All the toys that Bifur had been making recently had been the same. Made of oaken wood or ebony, these dolls either had eyes of sapphire  and hair of onyx, silver streaks deftly painted on, wearing carefully made robes of deep blue silk, a golden crown perched on his head, a diamond dazzling in its centre, or there would be one with gold for hair, sapphires for eyes, wearing carefully made clothes of dark leather, a gold crown with tiny rubies sparkling in the light. Or there was a doll with hair of onyx, and eyes of onyx too, though the Dwarf that inspired the doll hadn't had black eyes, but eyes of a very deep brown. This doll wore garb of a steely blue, a silver crown on his head, a sapphire sparkling away when it caught the light.

Bifur had made seven of each and was working on another, the onyx-eyed one, when Dáin came.

The sapphire eyes of Thorin and Fíli, and the onyx eyes of Kíli stared dully at him. The dolls were beautiful, yet they broke the king's heart to look at them.

"Busy day?" 

Bifur half-shrugged. He was creating another tunic from a square of steely-blue silk for the doll, whose dark hair shone brightly. He stopped, lowering the silk.  _"Not him."_

"The doll?"

 _"The_ dolls _,"_ Bifur corrected him.  _"They aren't my king and princes. They aren't my friends, my brothers-in-arms. But it helps to make them."_

"It helps to see 'em."  Dáin said. "Now we'll _never_ forget what they looked like. It's easier to remember a Dwarf's behaviour than his face, wouldn't ye say, Bifur?"

Bifur nodded, picking up the silk again, wrapping it around the doll's little body. It reminded  Dáin of the shrouds that had covered _their_ faces and he frowned, forcing himself to think of something else. The shrouds that had covered _them_ had been made of gold thread, Erebor's sigil picked out in a deep blue. This was a steely blue, with not a hint of gold.

 _'At least  Fíli and  Kíli weren't taken by the Gold Sickness,"_ thought Dáin to himself.  _'Ah, but _Fíli would have made an excellent king and my cousin, my poor cousin...he trained his whole life to become King of Erebor and would have been better suited to it than I am.'__

 _"I haven't made their mouths yet,"_ Bifur said, seemingly unaware of his new king's thoughts. " _Thorin rarely smiled, but when he did, you'd swear he was the sun itself, for he brightened the day up so much."_

"He was happy," Dáin promised, feeling more certain of this fact than he was of anything else. "He'd reclaimed his kingdom, made peace and had finally managed to kill that Orc-scum. Put a smile on his face."

Bifur nodded, agreeing with this.  _"And the princes? They rarely_ never _smiled."_

Dáin chuckled softly, noting a smile that flickered at the edges of Bifur's lips. "Aye. It'd be a crime to put a scowl on their features, wouldn't it?"

_"Do you want to help? Thorin told me you liked to paint when you were both Dwarflings?"_

"Aye, if you'll let me." Dáin knelt beside him, picking up Fíli and Thorin in either hand. "Did Thorin ever tell you about the time we found his amad's kohl? It was ludicrously expensive and we thought it would make great drawing equipment. She was less than pleased when she found out."

Bifur smiled, laughing as he continued with the tunic. He put it over the doll's head and soon enough the figure was dressed. Bifur picked a sheet of parchment, placing it down and putting an inkpot and two quills on top of it and carefully began etching a smile on the onyx-eyed doll's face.

Dáin couldn't be sure, but he  _thought_ he saw a little spark in Bifur's eyes as he continued his work.

 


	7. Bofur

Bofur hadn't laughed, nor even smiled, since seeing the still bodies of his king and princes. Dáin could hardly blame him. How could one smile after seeing the great Thorin Oakenshield lying dead? How could one laugh when Fíli and Kíli could not?

It had only been when _his_ Thorin, his dear son with a mane of red to rival his own, had found the crown of Durin and placed it upon his head that Dáin found the will to crack a smile. It had slipped over his eyes and landed on his nose and he'd laughed outright at the sheepish expression on Thorin's face when he removed the crown.

Now, whenever he looked at the miner, who looked so tragically unhappy all of the time, and wished he could pass the small happiness he'd felt onto him. He seemed so lost, simply wandering about aimlessly and Dáin had seen him coming out of the catacombs once or twice. 

He was headed there now, himself, wondering if he could catch him as he went in or after. As always, he took off the crown and entered quietly, his head bowed. Three stone graves stood, surrounded by torches. They had been buried with cloths-of-gold, clad in the finest clothes they could find, the crowns that had once belonged to Frerin and Thorin upon their heads. 

Bofur wasn't there. Dáin stood by the crypts, reading the runes etched into the smooth, cold rock. Names that shouldn't have been inscribed onto the tombs. Names of Dwarves that should still be living.

Footsteps came behind him and he turned his head. Bofur had apparently owned a ridiculous hat at one point. Dáin couldn't imagine it. He was used to Bofur with his black hair divided into three braids, completely hatless. He smiled at him now. "How are ye?"

"Mmm."

That was about the most that Bofur answered when asked about his well-being now. His eyes, a mixture of green and hazel were fixed upon the tomb to the left of Thorin. Kíli's grave, his eyebrows lowered, a crease between them. Every so often, his eyes flitted to  Fíli's grave too and would watch it for several minutes and then move onto Thorin's. This cycle continued for what seemed like ages before  Dáin dared to interrupt.

"Did ye use to have a hat once?"

Bofur looked startled. Dáin mentally kicked himself for mentioning it.  _'Ye bloody, feckin' idiot, Dáin Ironfoot!'_ He thought to himself.

But..was that a smile? A tiny smile?

"I did," Bofur said. "The boys would try and steal it every morning with varying degrees of success. After we found them...I put it in Fíli's hands. Kíli had the runestone that Lady Dís give him and I thought it'd be nice if Fíli had summat to hold as well." Bofur smiled, sadly, and sighed. "They didn't deserve to die. They were loyal and fierce, and they were good lads."

"Bofur?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sure they're playing Catch with it right now."

Bofur grinned. A huge smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and dented dimples into his cheeks. "I hope so! I often regret not letting 'em, you know."

Dáin smiled gently at him. "They'd appreciate it, ye know. They truly would. Ye've done 'em a great kindness."

Bofur's grin fell. "I..I remember seeing them. Cold and pale."

"Now they're safe in Mahal's Halls. It's warm an' bright an' cheery there. They'll have their family with 'em, Bofur. An' yer hat o' course."

A smile, a contented smile came to Bofur's face. He looked down at the crypts again, the crease between his eyebrows gone and then looked back up, smiling at his new king.


	8. Bombur

 Bombur looked like the weight of the world was resting upon his massive shoulders. His head was always low, his eyes never left the ground and his round auburn braided beard was kept in his tunic as if to protect his heart. 

 And Dáin never saw him eat. _No_ one did, it seemed, not his friends, not his kin, not even his wife, Qlîna. 

When offered food, he would shake his head. When told mealtimes, he would nod, but never turn up. Any food sent to his chambers would be untouched. 

 "At least he has plenty to live off." Nori said one day unthinkingly during a break in Court with Bofur sat opposite him. This resulted in the livid brunette Dwarrow throwing himself bodily at Nori and cost two bottles of Dáin's favorite wine. 

 "Why couldn't ye mad feckers have done that to the woodland princess's wine?!" Dáin had raged after at them. 

 But it had made him more determined to get to the bottom of this problem. One night, he deigned to eat alone in his room. Just him and one guest. The new Queen, his Queen, Îlrin, ate with their Thorin and Dáin sent for his messenger to, well, order Bombur to see him. 

 The amount of food he had on the table seemed ridiculous, but nobody could out-eat a Dwarf, especially not one on an empty stomach. 

Finally, his Chief of Architecture arrived, silent and withdrawn. It was no way for anyone to be. No way at all. Dáin sat opposite him in order to look at him in his eyes when speaking. At first, he didn't say anything. He simply loaded his plate and began eating. Food didn't hold much taste since Thorin had died, but even Dwarves had limits on how long they could run on empty and Dáin had no wish to reach his. He pretended to expect that Bombur would be eating too. He let himself look up every once in a while and noticed the dark blue eyes kept glancing on three dishes in particular. There was slices of roast duck, honey glazed ham and roasted pork. Dáin recalled that Thorin had loved ham. Once a very long time ago, he'd stolen one from the palace pantry and had eaten the whole thing in a single sitting. 

 Personally, Dáin wasn't a fan of pork. It was too close to comfort, pigs were essentially tame versions of boars. He couldn't do it. But he knew that other Dwarves enjoyed eating it and had asked for it. Who of Thorin's kin liked pork so much?

 Then, without warning, Bombur pierced a juicy, dark piece of the pork and deposited it on his own plate. "Every Winter Solstice and birthday," he mumbled. "Every single one, the princess used to cook pork. She roasted it specially in the oven and you could smell it in the air. Prince Kíli used to love it. He'd talk for weeks about his future dinner and on the day he would be practically glued to the oven. His mother used to tell him that she would cook him too."

 Dáin said nothing. He didn't trust himself not to put his foot in his mouth. Instead he nodded his head. 

 "And on..on Prince Fíli's nameday, she would make him duck. Not roasted in the oven, crisped in the frying pan. He loved it so."

 "And Thorin liked ham." Dáin said carefully. 

 "He adored ham. He would have gladly eaten it for _all_ three meals!"

 "He tried enough times when he was little." Dáin told him. "He'd beg, he'd plead, he'd pretend to cry, but his father was very unmoving about it!" Bombur hmmed and Dáin thought he saw the corners of his mouth slightly lift. "What's your favourite?"

 Bombur met his eye. "Look at me, would you? Everything is my favourite!"

 Dáin snorted. "Ah, you're a bloody funnyman too, are ye? I ought t'keep ye, yer brother and my Spymaster around Court t'liven things up!"

 Bombur was smiling. Not a big, beaming, ear-to-ear grin, but a small, genuine smile. And his plump fingers were gripping his knife and fork, a piece of meat travelling to his lips. He chewed and swallowed and repeated the action. Dáin let himself relax. Maybe it might take Bombur a while, long or short, to return to his full eating capacity. But at least he was on the right path back. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
